


The Experiment

by fallofdeductions



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: ALL OF IT, Anal Sex, Clubbing, Clublock, Drugs, Established Relationship, Jesus christ what did I just write, Kissing, M/M, Oral Sex, Sex, Shameless Smut, Sherlock is hella gay, Smut, all the porn, bottom!John, lots of fuck words, toplock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-24
Updated: 2014-02-24
Packaged: 2018-01-13 14:18:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1229587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fallofdeductions/pseuds/fallofdeductions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock and John manage to find themselves in a nightclub.</p><p>Chaos ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Experiment

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

**John, come at once. SH**

**It’s important. SH**

**Please. SH**

John stared at his phone, completely dumbfounded and at a loss for words. Since when did Sherlock ever say _please_? That can’t possibly be a good sign. _No, say no, there’s no fucking way that something good can come out of this._

**Where are you? JW**

****Every single bone in John’s body told him that this was a bad idea. Even some things that were most definitely _not_ bones, like his brain. Mostly his brain. _Jesus bloody Christ, what are you doing?_

**Get in a cab and request 2273 Easton. No more information should be required. SH**

**See you soon. SH**

**Oh, and try not to dress in a jumper. That blue shirt of yours should suffice. SH**

****John cursed to himself.  You’d think that, after all this time, he would know when to say no. But of course not. Why would he ever say no to Sherlock Holmes? That was too fucking easy. So that’s how the good doctor found himself going through his wardrobe, putting on that blue shirt that matched his eyes and even grabbing the black trousers. A few minutes in the loo and he had to admit, he actually looked pretty decent. Living with Sherlock had actually helped his fashion sense to some extent, and he was feeling confident when he walked out the door.

The cab driver smirked at him when he mentioned the address. He probably should have taken that as a _huge fucking hint_ but when was John ever known to back down from something? In his mind, this was almost a sort of challenge. Sherlock wanted to be all mysterious and vague and annoying as all hell? Okay. John could handle that. He could definitely handle that.

But dear God, he wasn’t ready for the music. The cab took him to a derelict looking brick building that was absolutely leaking bass-heavy lyrics to songs that John had never heard before. He was going to kill Sherlock. There was no fucking question. He was going to absolutely kill bloody Sherlock Holmes and—

But the man himself was in the centre of a thickly populated dance floor, swaying his hips and looking absolutely fucking gorgeous and _no John, you’re straight._ He scowled and tried to walk through the crowd and get to his flatmate, pushing and shoving his way through the people. His height was definitely against him. But it was when he broke through the crowd and made it to Sherlock that he realised the had definitely should have stayed home. _Fuck, this isn’t okay. This is definitely far, far, from fucking okay._ John made it to where Sherlock was writhing and reacting to the music in the most intriguing of ways. _Oh, fuck._

Sherlock was Dancing. Capital letters included. His curves matched the music and rocked with it, forcing John to watch as he moved. Sherlock was wearing a skin-tight violet shit, clinging to him, and midnight coloured trousers. And that was the moment that John realised that he needed a drink.

He made his way back over to the bar, ordering the strongest thing he could think of, and downed it in only a few gulps. When he was sufficiently buzzed, John managed to find his way back to Sherlock and was, once again, captivated by the other man. It was hard to watch, Sherlock having one hand in his hair and the other dragging down his body. John felt a familiar tug in his trousers and _Fuck it all, that man is beautiful._ It was something that he swallowed down, as usual.

Sherlock finally spotted him, smirking deviously and beckoning him over with one finger. How was this part of a case? John had assumed this was part of a case, but he was rapidly believing that this might actually just be one of the detective’s schemes. But why would he want John to be there? Unless…

No. There was no reason to think like that. Sherlock didn’t. Didn’t he? No. He didn’t. _Don’t be a fucking idiot—_

But then, Sherlock was dancing. His hips and curves and God knows what else was suddenly _right next to John_ and he was moving with him. John’s breath hitched and suddenly hands were on him, long fingered musician’s hands that were more accustomed to feeling the smooth wood of a violin. He leaned in, chin resting on Sherlock’s shoulder, the alcohol taking affect in his brain. All he could feel were those goddamn fingers on his skin and, fuck, was he feeling under his shirt? John looked up to see that his flatmate’s pupils were blown black, his skin shining with sweat. The doctor hidden in the back of his mind suggested drugs, probably ecstasy, but how could he be sure? All he knew was that those _fucking hands were touching him_ and he was rocking into the touch.

At some point, his back hit a wall. John was still gyrating his hips, the lack of food in his stomach making the one drink all the more potent, and all he knew was the feeling of Sherlock moving against him. He couldn’t even hear the music anymore. The taller man was above him, hands braced behind him, breathing heavily into his ear. “ _John_ ,” he growled. _“Please._ ”

John wasn’t sure what he was asking for, but he knew that he wanted it. Everything felt amazing, and yeah, maybe it was the drinking. Maybe it was whatever the hell was coursing through Sherlock’s system. Maybe it was the atmosphere. But suddenly Sherlock was grinding hard against him and it felt too good for him to say _stop_.

His short fingers found a home in curly black hair and pulled, Sherlock’s head falling hard against his shoulder. Hips ground hard against hips and John realised that he was suddenly very, very hard.

“Sherlock,” he growled. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t answer, just continued to roll his hips against John’s and _moaned_ in that ungodly voice of his, stirring something inside of the army doctor that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He pulled the taller man closer and keened, feeling exactly how hard he was.

“Why did you bring me here?” he asked. “Fuck, Sherlock, _why am I here_?”

Sherlock, once again, didn’t answer. Instead of saying anything, he brought his head down and captured John into a kiss. His tongue lapped at John’s lower lip, biting and sucking and generally being completely and utterly _hot_ and he realised just how far gone he was. Both of them were hard. Wanting. 

“Please tell me there’s a back room.”

The detective nodded and took John by the hand, dragging him behind a door. Other people were in the room, he knew, based on the sounds they were making. But he didn’t care.

Sherlock attacked him. Teeth latched onto his neck, sucking a bruise onto his skin, and John felt what seemed very much like a cock against his own. He moaned needfully. “ _Fuck, Sherlock, please, just do something.”_

John felt his trousers hitting the floor in the dark room. Even with his eyes open, he could barely see the detective before him. Maybe that was a good thing. But there was a slide of fabric and a flick of a wrist and all of a sudden, Sherlock’s gorgeous mouth was wrapped around him.

His fingers laced into the curls, tugging them hard, as he thrust into the other man’s mouth. John’s breath hitched and trailed and did all sorts of strange things as he was sucked off by the most beautiful man he’d ever met. Tongue trailed along his cock and wrapped all the way around him, coaxing pleasure into the front of his brain. John felt himself tumbling way too close to the edge before one hard whisper of _Sherlock_ made him stop.

The taller man returned to his lips, kissing him hard, the musician’s hands working at something behind him. John felt slick fingers at his entrance. The whole scenario was so surreal, far too much, really. He should stop.

“ _Please_ , Sherlock,” was what he said instead.

Sherlock’s fingers dove inside of him, preparing him, stretching him open until he couldn’t stand it anymore. John rocked against the digits inside of him, moaning and breathing hard. The detective smirked and gave him more, managing to fit three fingers inside of the doctor before brushing against his prostate.

John screamed, actually _screamed_ , and Sherlock couldn’t take it anymore.

“John,” he breathed. “I need you. Please, _please.”_

The doctor nodded, and his detective was putting lubricant on his cock. Sherlock tried hard not to touch himself to completion, only doing enough that he was fully slick, and positioning himself right at John’s opening. He waited patiently until a curt nod was given to him, and he plunged right in.

John cried out again, Sherlock rocking hard against him and burying himself to the hilt. Sharp teeth were tugging at his throat. Pleasure rocketed up his spine. _“Fuck, Sherlock, fucking move!”_

He obliged. Sherlock held John’s wrists against the wall, slamming hard back inside of him. The only thing he could feel was his tightness, the walls closing in around him, and the detective tried very hard not to come right then and there. He must have found John’s prostate when he began to writhe and beg and moan for more. Sherlock buried his face in the shorter man’s neck and wrapped his hand around the cock between them. He wasn’t going to last long and needed John to come _now_.

There were people surrounding them. Possibly having sex just as much as they were, but John didn’t care. All he knew was that he was full and needy and _oh God, Sherlock, right there._ Sherlock began to piston his hips right in his spot, that bundle of nerves driving John closer and closer to the edge. Pleasure blossomed in his abdomen.

“Sherlock!” he screamed out. “Fuck, Sherlock!”

He spurred on, gripping him harder and harder until a spurt of warm liquid erupted between them. John moaned loudly in his ear, forcing Sherlock to empty himself deeply inside the other man. His muscles convulsed, sparks of electricity rocketing up his spine, and he could feel his cock twitching inside of John. The two of them stilled against the wall, relaxing and trying to ride out the remainder of their orgasms. 

Sherlock could still feel his abdomen pulsating when John whispered in his ear. “Let’s go home. Come on.” His vision was slightly blurred and his brain didn’t work for several reasons. Before he knew it, the two of them were in a cab and his head was resting on John’s shoulder.

“Bloody hell, Sherlock,” said John. “If you wanted to fuck me, you should have said so. _Jesus._ ”

The detective only had enough energy to chuckle. “I was hoping that you wouldn’t notice me coming onto you as much where we were. But you seemed to be conducive.”

John shook his head. “Yeah, but it would have been nice if we had our first time at home, you know? You, pressed into the bed, maybe even riding me—“

Sherlock’s eyes opened wide. “Can we still do that?”

“Oh, Sherlock,” John smiled, trailing a hand through his hair. “If you have to ask after _that_ , then there’s no hope for you.”


End file.
